Resurrection of the Unspoken Word
by SrslyNo
Summary: A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other? Wanted: Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC. Slash. Final chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Resurrection of the Unspoken Word

**Author:** SrslyNo

**Summary:** A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other?

**Characters/Pairing:** House/Wilson

**Rating**: R for language

**Warning:** It's from my fevered imagination. Alternate universe set in the future – should be labeled Sci-Fi. Might be considered a deathfic, but it's not. Angst. Slash.

**Wanted:** Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC.

**Spoilers:** Not in this story.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, and never will be.

**A/N:** Inspired by my cell phone – a plot bunny that's been hopping around for months, and finally deserved freedom. This will be posted in fairly often to cut down on prolonged angst. I'm grateful to my betas, **bookfan85** for her keen eyes and support, and **bishojo_kitsune** for her excellent suggestions and all-around muse.

*****

"A new world order. A new world peace."

House inwardly laughed. He'd heard all that before.

Wilson busied himself quietly in the background. Walking to and fro from the kitchen to the living room.

"Hey! You can stop what you're doing for one moment and answer me."

Wilson looked at House, raising an eyebrow quizzically, but said nothing.

"A new world order? Peace? Can you believe it?"

"Yes. Um…whatever you say," Wilson agreed diffidently.

House looked displeased. Disappointed. "Hmmph, never mind," and looked away.

With eyes turned downward, Wilson put up a brave front, tidied and removed the dishes from the coffee table until he could hide away and busy himself in the kitchen. With his back turned from the doorway, he stood next to the sink allowing tears to drop from his face. The droplets joined the rushing water from the tap as he scrubbed the debris from the china. By the third plate, he dried the moisture from his face. Wiping the traces away on his rolled up sleeve. He felt better and it was for the best that House did not know. He smothered his frustration. Was it totally impossible to please him?

*

That night, Wilson stood stock-still in the doorway to House's bedroom listening until the breathing pattern smoothed before coming any closer. Earlier, he heard House make his customary journey to the bathroom. Fortunately, the unpredictable man was a predictable sleeper. Now was his chance. Undressing silently, he slipped under the covers and turned on his side to watch House slumber. He drank in the sight, sound, and smell of the snoring man, accepting the body heat rolling off him as a heady bonus. He basked like a sun worshipper, but it didn't overcome the shame he felt. He behaved no better than a dog seeking the comfort of his master.

Wilson set his internal clock for before dawn. He'd return to the sofa to catch a few extra winks, and be preparing macadamia pancakes by the time the bedsprings groaned, alerting him that House was awake.

*

At the breakfast table House betrayed no emotion in his inquiry, "Have you taken your vitals?"

"I'm fine." Wilson handed him the slip of paper. It was their daily routine.

House read the stats. Each number dropped significantly from the day before. He could barely hold back a grin. "I'm never bored with your lies, but it doesn't change anything. You're dying right on schedule. Call me if there are any surprises"

Wilson nodded as he wiped off the table. After House left for the hospital, he'd replay the last phrase in his head, analyzing and sifting each word for crumbs of concern. It might give him a reason to concentrate on reversing the deadly numbers.

House headed for the door, throwing the backpack over his shoulder.

Wilson noticed that House wasn't wearing his leather jacket. "You're jogging to work?"

"You're not objecting, are you?" House jumped up and down as if he was a pogo stick, "Got a tune up the other day. Thinking of chopping the left one off and replacing it with another ACME 1080. The repairman-surgeon said it would cut ten minutes off my running time".

Hiding his guilt as he always did, Wilson rubbed his neck before launching to the defense of the breakthrough prosthesis, "House, your leg was mutilated beyond repair after you wrapped your bike around that tree. I had no choice. You should have had elective surgery years ago like everybody else. Now you can walk, even run normally without pain, and it looks seamless. Has virtually no maintenance. Why stay angry at me?"

The old cane, now gathering dust, was propped up near the doorway. A souvenir from their previous life. House grabbed it and rapped the head of it against his bionic leg. "Because there's no feeling, you idiot!" The grainy voice dropped half an octave as House muttered bitterly, "Much the same as you.

After the door slammed, Wilson erased the cruel words from his memory. Began making the bed and cleaning as he always did. Without House watching his every move, he allowed his right foot to drag as he straightened books and dusted. He kept himself busy planning the dinner menu and ordering food from the market. He then sat on the sofa staring into space until the delivery boy arrived with the groceries.

After the small outburst this morning he didn't even consider examining House's words for any affection. Instead, he repeated the words out loud, spinning the phrase with different, warmer inflections. Changing the phrase to how he wanted and needed to hear it. Then he closed his eyes imagining House telling him with worried concern, "Call me if there are any surprises, Wilson."

He blinked. He felt better.

*

One evening. Several weeks later.

House sat isolated on the lounge facing the couch. He studied the latest numbers left for him on the coffee table.

He heard the object of his interest shuffling down the hall. His ice blue eyes stared intently as the dark haired man stepped into the living room running a hand lightly over the sofa. Sensing it was empty. Wilson sat down at "his" end, tilting his head toward his lap. Sitting quietly, he tried courageously to stop his body from shivering. He didn't want House to know everything. As it was, House would probably be ecstatic over the latest figures on the tape.

Leaning forward, House commanded "Look at me!"

Wilson obeyed. There was no way to hide this last symptom for long. He turned his blank eyes toward the voice.

Staring, the doctor demanded, "When did you lose your sight? You know you need to tell me everything you're experiencing to come up with the right calculations."

Wilson shrugged. It was his moment to be bitter, "Yes, well you don't want to be late for the final curtain on my performance, do you? Who knows what may come out of my mouth other than a death rattle."

House was impatient, "Don't be a drama queen, and answer the question."

Turning his ear to better catch the words, Wilson was surprised to notice the trademark harshness gone. Perhaps, he'd be offered mercy during his last days. Encouraged, he spoke up, "About noon. I turned on the television, and 'Prescription Passion' was on. Hey what about that Kelly? Last thing I saw was the fourth baby popping out of her."

Wilson waited for a response from House. Anything.

Nothing. Hope died within him. He tamped down another shiver. He wouldn't give House the satisfaction.

If only he could have seen House's face.

Hunched over the calculator, House refigured the formula. There was something good about this new world order. You could calculate the demise of your "best friend" to the day and minute by simply pushing a few buttons. By this time, three days from now, he would have what he so dearly wished. House smiled. He could hardly wait.

*

Three days later. 11:00 am.

House was rushing home. Thank God he drove to the hospital on his bike, but he was royally pissed. This wasn't supposed to happen until tonight.

If it wasn't for his latest patient, he would have hung around the apartment like an expectant father waiting for the birth of his child. But, the manufacturer assured him; the vitals would give him the exact time of death. It was just luck that there was a lull when his patient stabilized, and he took a moment to channel his nervous energy into a phone call to the dying man back at his house. Admittedly, it was becoming difficult to hide the interest in his voice that could be mistaken as thoughtfulness. He didn't want to slow down the process any further. He'd waited years. Fucking years for this day.

Not having anything to say, House counted on his wits to make something up on the fly. He could have written the state of the union address by the time the phone was picked up after ringing endlessly.

"Yes." The voice was a lackluster whisper.

Immediately House knew something was wrong. Dropping any pretense he asked, "How are you?"

Wheezing greeted his ear. Finally a breathless, "Fine."

House wasn't expecting such labored breathing until later this evening. This was unscheduled. He was becoming worried.

A small voice mumbled two words through the receiver. House snapped the phone off and headed out the door at lightening speed, collecting his jacket as he propelled out the door. For once, he was grateful to his space age leg not slowing him down.

There was no misunderstanding what the indistinct words, "Come home" meant.

He was in a race with death.

*

House found the body collapsed on the floor in the hallway. The cell phone a few inches from the lifeless hand. House was furious. He yelled, "Nooooo!" But no one could hear him.

He ran and kneeled over the figure, checking for a pulse. Knowing it was useless, he tried in vain to administer CPR. Nothing. The skin was cold to the touch.

Anger and grief filled House to overflowing. He couldn't control the outpouring emotion. Lifting the empty husk, he sat it upright against the wall. The chin was lolling against the still chest. He shook the body, then pounded it against the wall all the time screaming, "No you cock-sucking bastard! Listen to me! I spent good money for this not to happen. Speak, you son of a bitch! You heap of junk! Speak to me!"

He picked up the head, but there was nothing.

House couldn't believe it; tears slid unashamedly down his cheeks. "Wilson. Fuck. This can't be happening."

He hugged the lifeless creature to him, letting tears flow freely. He missed Wilson with all his heart.

Why did he have to die so suddenly...?

...Three years ago."

_tbc..._

_Thank you for reading. Comments always welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Resurrection of the Unspoken Word

**Author:** SrslyNo

**Summary:** A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other?

**Characters/Pairing:** House/Wilson

**Rating:** R for languag

**Warning:** It's from my fevered *jazz hands* imagination. Alternate universe set in the future – should be labeled Sci-Fi. Might be considered a deathfic, but it's not. Angst. Slash.

**Wanted: **Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC.

**Spoilers: **Not in this story.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, and never will be.

**A/N:** Inspired by my cell phone – a plot bunny that's been hopping around for months, and finally deserved freedom. This will be posted in fairly often to cut down on prolonged angst. I'm grateful to my betas, [info]bookfan85 for her keen eyes and support, and [info]bishojo_kitsune for her excellent suggestions and all-around muse.

Concrit welcome

**Part 2**

_Three years ago…_

"How's the new leg?" Wilson spoke softly into his cell.

House could hear the lecturer in the background.

"You're calling me during a presentation? Which means you want me talk you down from a hard-on, or the speaker is an ass. Which is it?"

A huffed sigh issued into House's ear, "Right, as always, House. I must be having an erection, because I actually chose to make a call to a jackass."

"Mmmm, I can hear your cock straining against the rough wool of your pan—"

"House! Wilson warned, but his voice instantly warmed, "Hold on while I go out to the lobby. You're impossible, but I can't get porn this good on the hotel TV."

"No problem. Just remember this call will cost you $8.00 a minute."

Ten dollars later, Wilson was back on the phone. "I miss you."

"Like you miss your underwear?"

"Yes, such a hilarious practical joke, if only you were an eight year old. That's your pathetic plea for attention? Sneak all my undershirts and boxers out of my suitcase?"

"Don't you like what I replaced them with?"

A chuckle escaped, "Yeah, DVD's of 'Monster Truck Madness' is much more practical." The voice became serious, "Hey, I called to ask you about the leg. Did you go in for the check up? Did Marks recommend any physical therapy?"

"No PT, the damn thing is a Maytag repairman's wet dream." House could still hear Wilson worrying at the other end of the line. After all, he was his medical proxy after the accident. House knew it weighed heavy on him, "You were right. I should have opted for the surgery years ago when you first began nagging me."

There was relieved silence.

"House?"

"Yeah."

"I wish you could have come to the conference with me."

"I charge "Pretty Woman" prices when I visit hotel rooms, and food costs you extra."

"How is that any different than what we have now? You're expenses are killing me." The teasing vanished from Wilson's voice. He sounded suddenly solemn, "It would have been worth it."

The background noise level abruptly changed. The lecture must just have finished and people were swarming out of the room. Wilson began signing off, "Look, I've got to go." The voice lowered to a confidential whisper, "House, I lo-" and abruptly changed to alarm, "Hou--?!…"

There was a grunt. A thump.

"Wilson! Wilson! Are you there?! Speak to me!

Other voices were shouting. "Call 911!" A stranger was saying, "He's not breathing. I'm not finding a pulse."

"Willllllssssoooonnnn!!!!"

*

Five thousand doctors, and not one of them could help.

Cuddy called. A brain aneurysm.

Only Wilson's suitcase arrived back at House's doorstep.

The body was sent directly to the funeral home.

*

Cuddy held House's hand during the reading of the will. A sum was set aside for House to pay the funeral arrangements and the balance went to a niece, two nephews, and PPTH's oncology department. The amount was surprisingly small. Cancer wouldn't be cured, nor would any of Wilson's relatives quit waiting tables while going to college. House wondered if Wilson was paying alimony to two more wives he didn't know about.

*

Caustic as ever to those who knew him, House was shocked to realize he was still walking and talking. His body must be stronger than he thought to survive losing the one person he loved most.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Wilson was younger. Healthier. Stronger.

Wilson couldn't do this to him. One moment he was on the phone talking, and then mid-sentence, gone.

House grieved until his self-destructive natured kicked in and the hidden metal box on the top bookshelf beckoned. He coaxed it down off its perch, holding it snuggly in his arms as if it was a frightened kitten. Opening the lid, he was surprised to find a small pile of papers hiding the contents. He tossed the papers aside as he dug deeper into the box, finding the hypodermic and the vial.

The small glass container was empty.

A strangled cry issued from him as he flung the box across the room. He blistered the air with curses, hoping to curdle the ears off his personal care giving ghost, "Why you sneaky codependent bastard!"

House picked up all the discarded papers and was about to toss them in the garbage when the familiar handwriting caught his eye. He couldn't resist. It was an envelope addressed to him. Inside was a note,

_House,_

_Now that you have your bionic limb, there is no reason for you to be opening this box. Not for reasons to alleviate pain, which means _(those two words were underlined twice)_ you have another reason._

_And that reason is me. _(House mumbled under his breath, "Don't flatter yourself.")_. I'm not around this time to stop or save you, so I'm hoping a puzzle may prevent you from harming yourself._

It wasn't signed, but it had Wilson name written all over it.

Running his eyes over the other papers he saw that most were news clippings. House recognized some of it as the research Wilson delved into about the new transplant prosthetics, but the emphasis was on up-and-coming android engineering.

ACME Corporation – (Artificial Creations through Mechanical Engineering) with it's slogan, "Making EveryBody Better" was in the forefront and heralding amazing results. Loved ones could be recreated with ease from audio and video tapes. House grumbled in disgust. "No better than freeze-drying a cat."

He rifled through the papers. One engineer claimed he could imprint human cells onto chips causing androids to take on the personalities of those who passed away. The assertion trumpeted that the automaton would behave like the original human.

The statement tugged at House's heart, but did not overwhelm his interest in choking his helpful specter by its tieless neck.

Then he came to another article. The genius engineer was being sued. Owners found the robots defective. There were countless "un" complaints, "Unfounded, Unreal, Unbelievable, Unnatural, Unlifelike, (yes, that's how the news reporter wrote it.), and one guy who protested the android was too real, "She repeated back words that I last heard on my wife's deathbed."

House felt goose bumps crawl up his neck and a sense of purpose ignite his spirit.

Wilson's last words. What if he could hear what Wilson was about to say before he died?

Shuffling through the papers, he found more information about the scientist. Apparently, the class action went in favor of the plaintiffs, and he was dumped from ACME. Searching carefully he came across the name of the maverick engineer, Dr. Pierce Shockly. How could parents with the last name of Shockly ever give their baby the first name of Pierce? For the first time, and not the last he wondered if this was some elaborate hoax Wilson was manipulating from beyond the grave.

He closed the box, returning it to the shelf, and fired up his computer. He combed the internet for information. If there was such a person as Dr. Pierce Shockly, he was going to find him.

*

After chasing down dead leads and running down blind alleys, five weeks later House was knocking on the door of one P. Shockly.

The peephole flickered with light then blinked dark. Locks snapped and cracked as someone twisted knobs, and slid back latches. Two inches of light ruptured from the door.

"I'm Dr. Gregory House."

The portal opened wide. A bald-headed Woody Allen sort of man, stood at the entrance, "Um, uh, Dr. House, I've been expecting you. Why don't you come in."

"I intend to."

House was ushered into a living room that looked like an ancient book repository. Paper and tomes everywhere. One match and the place would combust and heat half the state for a month.

The bald-headed man stopped rubbing his hands for a moment to point to a chair as he offered, "Can I get you anything?"

"Dr. James Evan Wilson, if you have a spare one handy."

The engineer cackled non-stop as if overdosing on Comedy Central. House wondered if he wasn't in the presence of the proverbial mad scientist. He could overtake him if need be, as long as the little guy didn't own or know how to operate a gun.

"You're quite a card, Dr. House. That's very amusing." The little man pushed his large spectacles back up his nose with his fingertip. "As if I'd make a dozen Wilson's. No. I'm an honorable man, and as marketable as a good looking doctor with a sense of humor is...who can cook and clean—"

House jumped to his feet and grabbed the engineer, "You've met Wilson? He visited you?"

The small wrinkled fingers plucked the long slender ones away, "Er, uh, why yes. Isn't that why you came here? To pick up your bot?"

House sat back down in the chair. His head was spinning. "I came for information, I was thinking of ordering one, but…"

"Dr. Wilson was very concerned about you. He said he didn't want you to be alone if something happened to him. He ordered a robotic to be prepared, but not activated unless I received news of his death."

"You did?"

"Yes. The law firm that executed his will notified me. Also, I wasn't to contact you. That you would, um, find me."

House did not know what to say. He planned all along to special order a 'Wilson' to his exact standards, but his partner beat him to it. What would he be like? Damnit, he didn't want some replica, he wanted what was in Wilson's soul. "I don't want a doll."

"Oh, this isn't a doll. This is my best work. Dr. Wilson made it very clear that he wanted you to have a multi-purpose unit that you could customize."

Check. Checkmate.

Scratching his stubble, House capitulated the king. Apparently, Wilson was several steps ahead of him on this one.

"I don't understand? What is there to select?"

Shockley began moving around the room, "Would you like something to drink? I have some schnapps around here somewhere."

House shook his head.

His host sat down, "Very well. Let me explain, You have three options:

"One – The replicant looks, sounds and behaves according to Dr. Wilson's specs. You treat him like Dr. Wilson, the android will react like Dr. Wilson.

"Option two – The duplicate is impressionable, and has the flexibility to grow. If, let's say you want him to take up riding motorcycles, he will, but of course in a completely 'Wilsonian' way."

House imagined Wilson riding his motorcycle. If he behaved in a completely 'Wilsonian' way he'd refuse to get on.

"So it's not Wilson," House summed up glumly.

An index finger shot to the ceiling, "Aha! More than you would expect! That's the beauty of my androids. This is where ACME and I parted ways. My bots run on batteries and cell tissue from the host. Dr. Wilson allowed me to take several samples and completed a psychological profile to create lifelike reactions.

"Here is the third option - Not only is it second nature for this 'Wilson' to react like his 'donor parent,' but he can access memories, and is capable of original thought"

This information caught House's interest, he scooted forward in his seat, "You're my Frankenstein."

The magnified eyes from the eyeglasses bugged out more than possible, "Huh? Uh, uhm, well...there's a price for option 3."

"How much? I'll pay it."

"I'm not talking money. Dr. Wilson already paid. Your outlay is in time and not cash, Dr. House. You're pay-off won't happen for two to five years."

Great. Patience was what he was always running out of. "Then cut to the chase."

"Admittedly, option 3 is an attractive alternative, but with a terrible trade-off. There's a lot of energy expended in a bot. Just like in a body. Every movement, word choice, and reaction is drawn from the parent cells. Like humans, the android is driven by certain psychological needs. Satisfy those needs, and the replicant reacts in the appropriate way. Withhold them, and the replicant doesn't know how to conduct itself. It searches within it's memory banks for familiar patterns, and when there is no match, it runs a search again. Over and over until the batteries are completely drained." Shockly suddenly became quiet and looked sad. "Such a shame really."

House rolled his eyes. "Burn out's a bitch. Do you have anything else to say in less than a thousand words?"

The diminutive man's was so wrapped up in his creation the barb went right over his head. His face lit up as he stuttered with excitement, "Dr. Wilson's pro-profile indicated a strong need to be loyal to you, to provide lo-love and be loved in return. If you cut off this form of stimulation, it ta-taps deeper into the human cells. The replicant transforms into an individual with the ability to access the la-last moments in the donor's life." The engineer shook his head, "It's a Shakespearean tragedy. The bot actually becomes it's benefactor for a smattering of seconds, and then 'dies.'"

Shockly scratched his chin, "I've tried retooling and installing fail-safe contacts and software, but it has yet to be tested. I'm not sure if it will make any difference or not to the lifespan of option 3."

House was displeased with the semantics, "Dies?! It's a thing. When my remote control dies, I replace it with new batteries. Why can't the same be done?"

"True, true, but the last few seconds fries the circuitry along with the cells. A whole new android must be built and fresh cells restored."

Staring into space, House put the pieces together, "Fresh cells? You need a live donor? This is a one-shot? No do-overs," he concluded.

"Exactly You understand precisely!" Shockly answered gleefully. The poignancy of the situation flew past him like ET traveling across the moon.

Fingers played a piano solo on the armrest, "So, it is up to me to choose how to use this 'Wilson.' What if I decide on option 1 or 2? How long is his life expectancy?"

"Your lifetime. Perhaps, several." The engineer stood up and went to a cabinet, bringing out a booklet and a small device that looked like a calculator with two wires attached. "All you need for monitoring his physical condition are these two items. The bot runs a daily diagnostic, printing out the results on a tape. You enter external symptoms listed in the pamphlet over here, push this red button and bingo! See precisely the amount of energy expended. For option 1 or 2, you will barely see any fluctuations. For option 3, with minimum emotional stimulation generating heavy memory retrieval you can calculate to the minute when the android will expire. Except…"

Option 3 resembled the equivalent of murder by a method of torture House would never dream of doing to his patients. Medical sadism - certainly. Shunning - never. He couldn't abstain from asking, "Except?"

"For the self-preservation mechanism. I've never been able to pinpoint which circuitry causes the reaction, but the androids will keep symptoms from you and try all kinds of tactics to survive."

House was intrigued, "Like what? Dress up as RuPaul and put on a drag queen show in the hopes of distracting me?"

The engineer put up his hands, "No. Nothing like that. Lie to you that everything is fine, hide symptoms. I've even caught one reading a self-help book, attempting to visualize and eradicate the symptoms. As a diagnostician, you shouldn't have a problem, but I wanted to warn you."

This was a difficult decision. A copy that would be with him a lifetime, but only go through the motions, or he could trick the machine into terminating so that he could spend a few minutes with the genuine article. House didn't know if he could stand losing his partner again. The little game of finding Shockly kept him going up until now, but would a look-alike make him happy for the rest of his life?

That brought on a whole new line of speculation. "How real are these automatons? Do they eat, drink—"

The light reflected off Shockley's shiny scalp as he bobbed, "Yes. Eliminate, bathe. They even—"

"Blow-dry their hair and have sex?" House leered. He thought it would intimidate the engineer. The first remark may have, but the second - not in the least.

"Right! Right! A rabbit would chop off his own 'lucky foot' to be that insatiable." The pint-sized man chortled.

Perhaps, Woody Allen was one of his creations after all.

"Identical in every way?"

"Well, identical as a copy can be," explained the psycho-genius. "Option 1 or 2 replicates Dr. Wilson mannerisms and inflections. The surface details, so to speak, but doesn't tap into the thinking process. He won't be able to practice medicine, or for that matter, create new recipes, but he could follow instructions from cookbooks."

Blue eyes danced with excitement, "So,'Opt In' guy would have time for me and nothing else. I could live with that. When will he be ready?"

Shockly's raised his eyebrows over his glasses, "Oh, he's waiting to go home with you now. He's been activated since the estate released the funds from escrow."

So, that's what happened to the bulk of Wilson's estate. Not to some blonde tranny nurse in Poughkeepsie. The diagnostician was curious.

"How much did you charge him?"

"This is a very expensive process, Dr. House. It's a lifetime of R&D." The engineer looked nervous.

"How much, damnit!"

"Uhm, uh." Hands fiddled with the dark framed glasses, "Ninety percent of Dr. Wilson's estate."

So, Wilson wasn't hiding behind the stock market section of the newspaper at the breakfast table. There was a purpose all along.

House did a quick calculation in his head, $500,000. Wilson spent almost all of his life savings, a half a million dollars in order to prevent him from emptying the contents of the glass vial into his veins.

He was prepared to love this new gift, for the sake of the giver. "You don't have to gift wrap him, just give me his chew toys and water bowl, and I'll take him home."

Looking pleased, Shockly raised a hand, "I'll get him. Give me a few minutes."

House tried to stay calm while he waited, but he couldn't sit still. He got up and roamed the room, studying the bookshelves as he anticipated having Wilson back in his life. Back in his arms. Talking with him, joking, sharing stories. Screw having a minute with real Wilson, he was convinced he could live with a replicant forever…

Hearing footsteps behind him, House turned around.

Standing in front of him was six feet of tall dark and handsome. Hair curling exactly as always over his forehead, dressed meticulously in a brown suit, ivory shirt, and that green tie that was Wilson's favorite. The one with small polka dots that said loud and clear, "I'm fuckable." A smile pushed the dimple into place, bracketing the left corner of the mouth.

"Hey, House."

At the sound of Wilson's voice, his heart missed a beat, "My God. It's really you."

It was too good to be true.

Like opposing polarities, the two men rushed into each other's arms. House thought he'd melt as Wilson's lips brushed against his and their mouths opened to devour each other in a soul searching kiss.

Almost immediately, House pushed away. He looked into the familiar chocolate brown eyes that up until now he'd only recently seen in his dreams.

Like the kiss...the eyes were soulless.

House controlled his voice, astonishing himself on how gentle he could sound. He glanced up for a moment to see the expression on the bot's face, as he said, "Let's go home."

He aborted the sentence before saying 'Wilson.' He'd never permit himself to say it to the thing next to him.

The innocent replicant was beaming, "I can hardly wait."

House grunted. He patted his jacket pocket, checking for the meter and pamphlet. He never imagined it would be such a simple decision.

Actually, there was no choice at all. In the moment they kissed, he knew he couldn't live with options 1 or 2. If he had to wait two years or a lifetime, he'd rather have one second with the real Wilson.

_tbc…_

_Thank you for reading. Comments always welcome._


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Resurrection of the Unspoken Word

**Author:** SrslyNo

**Summary:** A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other?

**Characters/Pairing:** House/Wilson

**Rating:** R for language

**Warning:** It's from my fevered *jazz hands* imagination. Alternate universe set in the future – should be labeled Sci-Fi. Might be considered a deathfic, but it's not. Angst. Slash.

Wanted: Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC.

**Spoilers:** Not in this story.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, and never will be.

**A/N:** Inspired by my cell phone – a plot bunny that's been hopping around for months, and finally deserved freedom. This will be posted in fairly often to cut down on prolonged angst. I'm grateful to my betas, **bookfan85** for her keen eyes and support, and **bishojo_kitsune** for her excellent suggestions and being my muse.

Concrit welcome.

*

Part 3

_Back to the future…_

House was venting his anger by beating a titanium skull into an unsuspecting wall.

He was too late. Three years he waited, and from the warmth still coming off the body, he missed his chance by a couple of minutes.

Lifting the head, "Wilson! I know you're in there! You can't leave me again without speaking. Please, please. Just a sentence. A vowel. You know you want this moment as much as I do."

Eyes hollow and lifeless. Lips cold and slack.

There was nothing more to do. House wrapped his arms around the body and rocked it. Grief, quiet but heartfelt, poured from him as it had never done before. Tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the lifeless man. "Wilson." Words he'd never dared speak wrenched out of him. He kept hugging the figure, brushing away the hair to kiss the forehead. He choked out, "I love you."

Like rain on parched soil vitalizing a seed. One tear found its way down the android's back and soaked into a small rip in the battered skin. It slid down one chip and onto another, until it hung on the ends of two opposing breaks in the system and reconnected a circuit.

"So, how's the new leg?"

Startled, House raised his head from the bot's shoulder, looking at it carefully. He thought he heard whispering. He must be going crazy.

There was a soft vibration humming from the body.

The face was lifeless, but the mouth was moving, "Right, as always, House… I'm already talking to a jackass-- "

House couldn't believe it. He recognized the words. It was their last conversation, "Wilson! Wilson! Oh my God you're in there."

"House! Hold on while I go out to the lobby."

The melodic voice became louder, "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Wilson" House couldn't resist replying, his voice breaking over the words. Was this just an instant replay, or could a dead man speak from the grave?

"I wish you could have come to the conference with me."

"Me too." House touched his forehead to Wilson's as he answered.

"Look, I've got to go. House, I lo--…"

"No! Don't leave…"

"Look, I've got to go. House, I lo--…"

"Don't. You don't have to--."

"Look, I've got to go. House, I lo--…" The words were hung up on a tree branch from hell.

Unbidden tears once again broke upon the grizzled cheeks. His voice rang with bitter anguish, "Don't leave me twisting in the wind here! Finish the sentence, goddamnit!"

"Look, I've got to go. House, I lo-…lo-love you...You know it don't you? You'll never hear the end of it, if you tease me for saying so...But, I need to tell you…Ar-Are you listening?"

"I'm listening, Wilson"

"I'll love you forever, House."

The mouth stopped moving. The gentle thrumming vanished. Wilson was gone. Irretrievably gone.

_I'll love you forever, House. I'll love you forever. Forever, House._

House let go. It was over. After all these years, he got what he was after. The last words from his lover's lips. He hugged the shell once more, kissing it. Honoring it for executing a valiant job.

The apartment was dark. He hadn't realized how late it was. Feeling bone tired, he stumbled toward his bedroom, throwing himself onto the covers. Tired, sad, but with the wearied relief of someone who just survived a category 5 hurricane, he replayed Wilson's words over and over until he slipped into a deep healing sleep.

*

_Breakfast._

The tang of bacon in the air. The scrape of utensils.

No. Impossible.

House opened his eyes. Did last night tip him over the edge?

Water was running.

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he walked out to the kitchen. Someone was in there standing over the stove. Munching a piece of toast while glancing at the newspaper. Someone with shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. Feet shod in gleaming French shoes.

"Morning. How do you want your eggs?"

"Wilson?"

"Sorry, I can't remember how you like them. I'm a bit rusty after my wussy 'twin' made, what? Three years of breakfasts? About three thousand macadamia nut pancakes? Can you even look at them anymore?"

"It's really you?" House still wasn't sure if he was losing it.

The smug grin that answered his question was convincing him.

Wiping his hands off on a towel, they immediately locked onto the hips, (It was a long time since seeing that arrogant gesture. House thought he died and gone to heaven). "Yeah. Apart from the genuine simulated skin and the state-of-the-art circuitry, then it's pretty much me. Amazing, huh? After explaining how important my taking care of you was, Shockly said he would try to make some improvements on his design. Looks like he came through for us."

Nodding, House vaguely remembered the engineer mentioning something about software and fail-safes, but he wasn't going to let Wilson off the hook, "You found out about the aneurysm but didn't tell me," he accused.

"There was nothing to tell. I found out at my last physical. It was inoperable, so I did the next best thing." Raising his hands defensively, Wilson said dryly, "Can we please get along with each other for fifteen minutes before having our first argument?"

"If you're going to feed me within that time."

"Then tell me how you want your eggs, or you're gonna get them sunny side up whether you like it that way or not."

"Scrambled," House answered. Like his own brains felt right now.

Wilson echoed the sentiment, "Ah. Exactly like the inside of my head. You know, I remember some things, but not a lot. For instance, this banner on the newspaper. What the hell does, 'A new world order. A new world peace' mean?"

"Things have changed since…since you've been away." House looked behind him. The 'Wilson' doll was no longer in the hall. "Ouch!" He turned back around as he heard a chuckle.

"Sorry. I administered a medicinal pinch. You're not dreaming. It's really me." Wilson threw down Shockley's pamphlet, "You really need to read appendix C thoroughly. I wasn't 'dead' when you left me on the floor last night. My system was rebooting."

Wilson pointed to a slip of paper on the kitchen island, "And you better get used to my nagging. Look at those, while I get this ready."

House picked up the results of the latest diagnostic. He was afraid to see screaming red digits. His eyes widened with surprise. The numbers were black and off the charts. "Sonofabitch! You're gonna live forever."

A hand landed gently on House's shoulder as he was spun around to see Wilson smiling tenderly, "No, not without you House. You're the sole purpose that I'm here."

A fork and a plate of food was shoved into his hands. "Now stop trying to make sense of this and do something important. Taste the potatoes. I experimented."

Browned and crispy, the diagnostician closed his eyes floating away on the savory flavor.

"Saw shallots and fresh rosemary at the market this morning and thought I'd try it. Are you convinced yet?

Mummph! House nodded his agreement with his mouth stuffed full of potato. It was impossible to taste an herb he never ate before, and only the op 3 bot was capable of original thought.

"Then are you ready to fill me in about this new world order?"

Swallowing, House licked his lips, "France took back the Statue of Liberty."

Wilson shrugged, "She was beginning to show her age."

"Canada and Mexico merged into one country. Gives MexiCan a whole new meaning."

"I love Mexican food served by polite, apologetic waiters. They may take pity on me and offer free drinks when they hear you complain about the 'maracas' on the waitress."

"There are 49-1/2 states. Part of California fell into the ocean."

"San Francisco?"

"Gone."

"Damn! I always wanted to go there."

"Don't get too upset. The Castro relocated to Reno where ocean front property is cheap."

Wilson bit back a smile, "So, nothing's really changed."

House put down his plate, and moved closer to what he considered a living and breathing human being, "There's one epic reordering of the universe. Makes the rest pale in comparison."

"What's that, House?"

"You returned to me, Wilson." House looked away, and contemplated repeating what he said last night to Wilson's understudy. He launched a full out assault, "I love you."

Bushy eyebrows rose in surprise, "Now, that's downright cataclysmic."

Stepping within an inch of his heart's desire, "I love you, Wilson." House found it easier each time he said it.

Soft brown eyes shone with an interior light. Words soaked in affection fell from bow lips, "I love you too, House"

This time they embraced and kissed, and House had no doubts that this was the bona fide article. The long drought was over, and he drank deeply. His tongue explored every inch of the beloved mouth, and thrilled to the reciprocating sensations induced by his partner.

Eventually they moved on to the bedroom where they celebrated their union in undisciplined abandon, making love until neither doubted they were perfect for each other.

Only one spirit bonded them together, but that was quite alright. Both were confident it was an act of nature and not an engineering flaw.

Finally...two soul mates were joined as one.

_Fin_

_Thank you for reading, All comments welcome. And, hugs to all the readers who commented on previous chapters! XD_


End file.
